


Holiday Touch

by asilentmurder



Series: For The Holidays [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, First Kiss, For the Holidays series, Holidays, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentmurder/pseuds/asilentmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are we talking about MY son? The one who accused you of murder and stole a police van not six months ago?”</p><p>Derek hesitates. “I never said he was perfect, sir.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of got away from me, so it's longer than I intended for a ficlet. Truth be told, it wouldn't let me write it any other way though. Totally unbeta'd, ignore any errors.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this little series! Have a wonderful New Year's, see you in 2013 :)

The day before Lydia’s party, Scott asks Stiles for a ride to the mall. “My mom has the car. Lydia said if we don’t dress in all black, she’s going to eviscerate us. I need a black dress shirt. I don’t want to be eviscerated, man!” Stiles groans about it, but grabs his keys and picks Scott up.

They’re in Macy’s by the time Scott brings up Derek.

“Allison told me you’re bringing Derek to the party tomorrow.” Scott drops casually as he rifles through the button-downs. “What’s that about?”

Stiles picks up a puke-green packaged shirt and chucks it at Scott’s head. “What’s it about? It’s about everyone being a little nicer to Derek. He hasn’t had the best life, and I don’t think he ever expected to be the alpha of a pack of idiot teenagers. Go easy on him.”

Scott furrows his brow. “What? No, Stiles, that’s not what I meant.”

“Whatever, just try to be a little more understanding, okay?” The conversation is starting to make Stiles angry.

Scott clicks his teeth. “You know, I’ve been trying to be helpful and you keep brushing me off. You did it on Christmas when you hung up on me.”

“No. I hung up on you because you were being melodramatic and wrong.” Stiles waves a hand to emphasize his point.

“Stiles.”

“You were! You said ‘what were you thinking, Stiles?’ and-”

“Because I thought you were making a move on him!” Scott suddenly shouts, causing the man at the check-out counter to glare at them. Stiles rounds on Scott, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock before his face distorts again.

“WHAT!”

Scott ducks his head sheepishly. “Well, I know you’ve got a thing for Derek-”

“A _THING_?” Stiles asks incredulously. Scott seems to blush.

“Yeah, man, your scent always changes around him. It’s subtle, but I’ve known you for years and it’s the same way your scent changes- well, used to change around Lydia.”

Stiles just stares at his best friend. Scott toes at the ground, waiting for Stiles to say something. “Oh.” Stiles says quietly, as if he just processed the information himself. “Oh, _shit_.” He runs his hand over his head in disbelief.

Scott takes a step toward him. “Dude. Did I just break you?”

Stiles’ hand flies out and clutches Scott’s shirt. Stiles turns his face to Scott, frantic. “Oh God, do you think he knows? Does he think tomorrow is a date?!”

Scott folds his hands over the one Stiles has twisted in his t-shirt. “Stiles, relax. I don’t think anyone but me noticed. I’m your best friend, I’m supposed to notice these things.”

Stiles releases his grip, patting Scott’s chest in relief. “Oh, good. Good looking out for me buddy.” He turns, heading toward the abandoned shirt rack. “You’re a much better friend than I give you credit for. So should I wear pinstripes? I need to look good. I’m going to flirt with Derek.”

Scott shakes his head and watches Stiles pluck an entire handful of hangers off the rack. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘than you give me credit for’? Stiles!” He takes off after Stiles as he walks toward the dressing room.

~~~

Derek actually comes to the door like a normal person when he picks up Stiles the next night. The Sheriff is on his way out to start his usual ‘people are forever reckless during New Years’ shift when Derek rings the doorbell.

“Ah, Derek, come on in. Stiles just got out of the shower, I think. He should be ready soon. Are you driving? I have beer in the fridge if you’re not.” The Sheriff sits on the couch to pull on his work boots. Derek sits down on the opposite end of the couch.

“No thank you, Sheriff, I’ll be driving tonight.”

The Sheriff nods, lacing up his boot. “Alright. You look after those kids. I know what goes on at those parties. I worry about my boy sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t. Of his friends, he’s got the best head on his shoulders. You raised him well.” Derek tells him supportively. The Sheriff glances over at him.

“Are we talking about MY son? The one who accused you of murder and stole a police van not six months ago?”

Derek hesitates. “I never said he was perfect, sir.”

The Sheriff laughs, standing. “Derek, you’re alright.” He says as Stiles bounds down the stairs. “You boys have fun, and stay off the back roads. More people drive drunk this night than any other night of the year.”

“Okay dad.” Stiles gives him a hug.

“Derek, make sure Stiles keeps his dick out of anything he could impregnate tonight.”

“DAD, JESUS CHRIST.”

Derek is laughing quietly, and the Sheriff puts on his stern face. “I mean it. No grandbabies.”

Stiles turns bright red. “Yeah, okay, got it. Can you please leave now?” The Sheriff smiles then waves as he walks out the door. Stiles turns to Derek to suggest they get moving, but Stiles takes in Derek’s outfit and his heart flips. Derek is dressed in dark denim and a black button down under his leather jacket. The insides of the collar and cuffs are a deep red. He looks down at his own black-with-dark-red-pinstripes shirt and laughs. “Hey. We kind of match.”

Derek glances at Stiles’ shirt and then down at his own. “Isaac picked this out.” Derek says, confused. “Something about Lydia and black?”

“’To match her soul’ is the phrase Scott first used. How appropriate.” Derek just nods. Stiles clears his throat. “So, shall we?”

They take the Camaro to Lydia’s house, and when they arrive, the party is in full swing. Jackson answers the door with a smirk and Stiles flicks him in the nose as he walks in. Jackson snarls at him, but Derek points a finger in Jackson’s face menacingly and the threat is gone. In the back of the house, the betas are standing in the kitchen talking to Scott and Allison, who both perk up when they see Stiles. Stiles grabs Derek’s hand without thinking, dragging him over to the pack.

“Stiles, you look great!” Erica says as she presses herself against him a little too closely. There’s a glint in her eye when she retreats. Stiles can still feel the shape of her boobs on his chest. He rubs at the spot absently.

“Thanks, so do you guys. Shit, everyone looks great.”

It’s true; all the party-goers are dressed in shades, the guys in black and the girls in white. When he finally sees Lydia, she’s wearing a glittering silver dress and a large red rose in her hair.

“Derek, you clean up well.” Lydia says when she approaches. “As do you Stiles.”

“No one shines like you do, though.” Stiles wraps her up in a hug. She giggles and Jackson is suddenly in the room.

“You’re sweet. Dance with me, our last dance was cut short.” She gives him no time to argue, dragging him out into the throng of dancing people in the living room. They dance for a handful of songs, Lydia’s sharp peal of laughter cutting through the music every time Stiles trips over his own feet. Finally, Jackson comes over to curl around Lydia possessively and Stiles fights his way back to the kitchen. Erica and Isaac are talking off to the side of the room in hushed whispers, so Stiles grabs some punch and goes to find the others. He finds Allison and Scott making out by the pool; Boyd is flirting with the new girl from their physics class out on the patio. Stiles makes his way upstairs, looking for Derek.

He’s out on the terrace over-looking the backyard with a drink in his hands when Stiles sees him. “Hey, there you are.” He peers into the cup to see what looks like Coke but smells like alcohol. “Captain?”

Derek shakes his head. “Maker’s Mark. I like the way it tastes.”

Stiles scrunches his nose up. “Never figured you for a whisky guy. I can’t drink that stuff, reminds me of my dad and that one time Scott and I stole his liquor and got sick when we were fourteen.” He shudders at the memory. “Why aren’t you downstairs enjoying the party?”

Derek turns to look down at the people scattered around the poolside. “I like it from here. I can watch without judgment.”

Stiles walks up to stand next to him. They say nothing for a while, watching Stiles’ classmates flirt and dance and socialize. Erica and Isaac come into view, creeping up on Boyd’s flirting before Erica jumps toward the girl, scaring her while Isaac plops into Boyd’s lap and plants a big wet kiss on his still-open mouth. Stiles sees the slight shake of Derek’s shoulders out of the corner of his eye. He rounds on him.

“You’re a terrible person, laughing at your beta like that.”

It only makes Derek’s restrained laugh bubble from his throat. “Oh, whatever, that was so typical of Isaac and Erica; I just can’t imagine what Boyd’s going to do.”

They don’t have to wait long- Boyd takes the opportunity to throw Isaac in the pool and chases after Erica when she darts toward the house. Stiles gives in to his own laughter, bumping his shoulder into Derek. Suddenly, a girl on the patio shouts, “It’s 11:58! Turn on the TVs!” Everyone rushes in to crowd the living room.

“Do you want to go downstairs for the ball drop?” Stiles asks. Derek sighs, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Not particularly. You go.”

Stiles doesn’t move though, and Derek doesn’t push it. They can hear the guests downstairs counting down: **_fourty-three, fourty-two_**

“This is weird. The holidays without Laura.” Derek offers quietly, straightening and stepping backward. Stiles reels, processing the freely given information. He says nothing, reaching out to grab Derek’s forearm and slide his hand down into Derek’s grasp. Derek watches him, the chanting from downstairs drowned out by the sound of Stiles’ pulse hammering in his ears. **_Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen_**

Stiles takes a step forward, crowding Derek’s space, and Derek lets out a small warning noise but doesn’t stop him when Stiles lifts his free hand to cradle Derek’s face. **_Twelve, eleven, ten_**

“Stiles.” It’s a pointless protest, one spoken only for technicalities, because Derek has no intention of stopping him. **_Four, three, two_**

Derek’s eyes slip closed when Stiles dips his head forward. **_One_**

Stiles’ lips press against Derek’s softly, shyly, with just a hint of a tremble. Before he can start to pull away, Derek parts his lips, tongue darting past to glide over Stiles’ bottom lip and seek entrance. Stiles yields to him, hand slipping from Derek’s jaw to the nape of his neck, and Derek finds his own free hand pressed into the small of Stiles’ back. The kiss doesn’t last much longer, both pulling apart slowly, lips rubbing against each other one last moment before they part. Derek drops his hand, opening his eyes to see Stiles looking at him with a warm expression.

“You’ll never spend another holiday alone. You’ve got us now.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just takes a second to steel himself against the prickle in the corners of his eyes and swallow the lump in his throat. When Stiles raises an eyebrow expectantly, Derek nods. “Okay.” His voice is gruff with the emotion. He isn’t alone. He has his pack.

Satisfied, Stiles lets go of Derek’s neck but keeps his hand in Derek’s grasp. He grins a little dopey smile. “You actually let me kiss you.” Derek tries to glare, but Stiles just keeps grinning. “Dude, you totally could have stopped me.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to reject you on New Year’s.” Derek bites. Stiles pokes his chest.

“Liar. You just don’t want to admit that you might be attracted to me.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I clearly didn’t think this through. You’re letting it get to your head.”

“Oh, come on, Derek. _You think I’m gorrrrgeous, you want to kiss me, you want to huuug me, you want to loooove me_.” Stiles singsongs it as he shifts closer to Derek. When Derek just furrows his brows, Stiles throws his hands up (including the one still attached to Derek’s) in exasperation. “Seriously, does NO ONE in this town understand pop culture references?”

Derek is still looking at Stiles, confused, when Stiles lets out a strangled noise of frustration and launches at Derek, an aggressive tangle of limbs and warm lips. Derek is caught off-guard when Stiles retreats just as quickly.

“Sorry. You just looked really adorable all confused like that. Like now, oh God, stop that.” Stiles pulls his hand from Derek’s finally, bringing it up to rub at his own face. “Why. Why me. You are so attractive, it’s stupid.”

Derek chokes out a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”

Stiles drops his hands. “Will you just shut up and kiss me again? God, it’s like you have no idea what you do to people.”

“Stiles, wait, you’re still only seventeen-”

“Until July.”

“-and your dad is the Sheriff.”

Stiles looks a little bit like a kicked puppy. “But-”

“We aren’t doing anything else until you’re eighteen.”

Stiles huffs. “So unfair.”

Derek takes a second to stare at Stiles. “Did you not hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing else until I’m eighteen, _blah blah blah_.” Stiles pantomimes talking with his hand.

“Exactly, **nothing** **else** until you’re eighteen.” Derek places heavy emphasis on the words and looks at Stiles expectantly until Stiles’ face lights up.

“Oh. _OH_.” Derek nods, a small smirk playing at his lips. Stiles rolls his eyes, but his face breaks out in a grin. “Oh, shut up and kiss me, idiot.”


End file.
